The 12'th wheel
by ClynicalBrat
Summary: A story about love, doubt, devotion and betrayal. A tale of the man who was probably the most misunderstood figure in the history of christianity.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: This fiction is inspired by JCS 2000, a video version of ALW's musical, and of course by the source, which for me is historycal, but not religious. To all christians: please do not explain to me the things that I already know. Don't think that I'm illiterate and do not know the role that the orthodox christian world gave Judas in the story. I KNOW, and I do not agree. I am not a christian, neither do I belong to any other religious confession, I do not believe in monotheism, so don't preach me. For me Jesus is a most intriguing and attracting personae in the history of our world. As well as Judas…and their relationship is what fascinates me most.  
  
  
  
Prologue.  
  
The Crossroads of Time.  
  
  
  
I am….I still am in fact, and this is the worst punishment, that God in his cruel and infinite wisdom has invented for me. I am, a nobody, a restless soul that has no way back, or no way forward just an endless go'around of memories, that spin through my mind, which is exhausted to the point of instability. Sometimes I get lost in them, those shadows of my life and I do not know if I want to get out of these dreams of past, sometimes I hardly can…There's one thing I know for sure – I can not get rid of them. I am not given the blissful oblivion, which would end my sufferings.So I keep remembering, keep seeing those eyes of purest blue, that the brightest sky can never match, which withheld so many mysteries, hidden and yet sometimes, so easy to understand. I see His face before my eyes, hear His voice, sometimes when I get too carried away by those illusions , it almost seems like I'm back to those times, enlighted by His presence, that poured more light into our souls, than a sun combined with moon and all stars, could never give. And then, I smile…and it feels like there's hope…but there is not. And every time, I get to believe it's Him, really Him, coming for me, to say that I'm forgiven, that I understood Him in a right way, and what I did was not a bad thing at all, but a part of the Plan, that I can join him, that I can be granted a happiness of merely staying at his feet, like I used to a hundered of lifetimes ago, the image shatters into countless pieces, and it's shards cut my heart, sting my eyes, which can't even shed tears anymore. My tears were dried by the Hell's flames…  
  
All I can do, is just wait…wait without hope for salvation, for I do not deserve one, wait silently, since I ceased crying for mercy, wait patiently, since I ran out of curses, pleas, accusations, questions, an eternity ago…just wait…because I haven't got a prayer for me…no one has, in fact. For I am the rebel, the fool, who not only betrayed the one he loved the most, but who betrayed himself. I am the one who thought he knew better, and who's sinful soul loved a Son, more than God, and not in a way he ever should. I am a liar, who made himself believe, that he was important, and that he was the 12'th wheel in the carriage of history, and that He himself was dependant on his miserable self. I am, the unforgiven traitor who wishes he could go to Hell and back, only to turn back time, and make his crime undone. I am….still am….Judas Iscariot.  
  
And there goes…my story.  
  
  
  
To be continued. 


	2. Memory 1

A sudden flash of light, almost painful….and then, the sad and strange nothing my soul exists in, gets form, and sound, and life…There's sand beneath my feet, and bright blue sky above my head. I close my eyes, because they are hurt. I got used to seeing nothing, so all those details blind me at first. I can sense the reality sucking me in, illusionary and yet so vivid, it makes me a part of it, takes me out of the nowhere, and turns back time. This is the power of God, now I see it…  
  
I still stand with my eyes close, hoping and yet fearing, that when I open them I will find myself right where I used to be , in my private Hell. But unexpectedly, a blow of a hot wind, with the spectacles of dust in it, rush upon my face, move my hair, make my skin feel it's almost suffocating heat. And then I open my eyes….only to see the sandy land of Karioth. Yellow, dried by the merciless sun, thirsty for a single drop of rain. My lips are dry as well…  
  
I was sitting at the big flat rock, right where the river should be by this time of the year. But it was a bad year, with no rain, and all the water went away. The sheeps and other animals were dying, and the people were close to that. My father, the rich man who possessed the big amount of land, and wealth, was getting into serious financial problems due to this. We've had enough water stored in the wells of our house, so the thirst didn't threaten us, but loss of sheeps, and the crop that was so poor it could barely feed our family led my father to one of his mad fits about this state of things. I just had to go away. While I walked through the city, I saw people on the verge of dying on the streets, starved almost to death, burned by the sun, their faces black and dried, as if they were made of harsh leather not of human flesh. I also noticed a group of people, that looked like travellers, also heavily tanned, and dressed in clothes that mostly resembled of rags. They didn't look much better than the townsfolk, unless they were clean. There was a strange kind of…glow, about them. Not visible, but yet I could feel it. For a second my eyes fell upon a man, with long weavy hair, too light for him to be born anywhere near this place. I couldn't get to see his face from afar, but I've had a most uncanny feeling, when I saw him talking to the unfortunates , who were sitting on the ground near house walls, attempting to find the sanctuary from the merciless rays of sun in their shadow. I didn't quite understand if he was trying to comfort them, or was about to join them – the later would be too unlike him, he was definitely not one of their kind. While making my way to the edge of the city, i I've heard the people talk, that those people were some kind of a new sect…there were too many of them these times, since each and everyone was expecting a messiah. Somehow our nation was expecting a messiah all the time, kids were raised with the constant thought of a new messiah coming. Just a new group of people trying to decieve themselves into believing, they're less ordinary than others didn't impress me much. I was way to synical for that, so I shrugged, and continued walking, leaving the smell of poverty, and dirt behind. I could feel hateful looks with my back, since I was well dressed, and didn't look hungry or thirsty at all.  
  
They hated me for this, those people…as if I was stealing from them…  
  
Those poor beggars and creeples, were so painfully disgusting to see, and yet I pitied them. And theremore, I as well, dispised myself secretly, wearing rich clothes, being so clean and content. Well as much as I could be…I was thirsty as well, but it was another kind of thirst. I could have drank as much water as I wanted, but the thirst never went away. I was longing for answers I didn't know the questions for. I was a grown man, already beyond thirty, still living in my father's house as it was required by our family tradition. I was to inherit the wealth after his death, but he wasn't going to face the creator at all. And so I was living, working for my father, and for my wife which was given to me by his will, and whom I didn't love at all. It felt lonely. It felt empty and dry just like this place, where once was a river, a glorious flow of sparkling water, that flew freely, softly murmuring, bringing freshness and chilling sweetness. Now there was just a tiny dirty ribbon of yellow water, that was not good enough even to water the plants, since it carried too much filth. That was the best relfection of my life. So, being carried away with self pity, I sat there, wallowing in selfcontempt. Was there any aim? Any purpose? Was I born and raised, only to stay here for the rest of my life, a mere shadow of my father? I followed all the rules, and the laws of our nation, and yet I felt like I'm living a one big lie. I would rather go with those religious freaks, which I saw in town, to have at least something that would remind me I'm alive, then stay here…But I was too rational, to materialistic and dissillusioned, to follow someone who's words can't be proved. A sad smile came over my face…It was getting too hot, and the view before my eyes, got dim, as if I saw it through a heavy haze. The very air itself, seemed to move around me.  
  
A breath a wind…chilling, comforting…a turn of a head, a questioning glance…  
  
I met the eyes, as I turned my head, the eyes that scanned me, investigated me, welcomed me, and scared me. They posessed a most beautiful color…bright blue…they seemd to glow from inside. Like his whole face. It was strangely pale, or else, not pale, but way too little tanned, in comparison with the others. The Man stood right behind me and looked at me. I recognized him. He was the one who spoke with the beggars. He might have followed me, all the way from the city, but I didn't notice him untill now. His beautifully lined lips formed a smile, the likes of one I've never seen before in my whole life. It felt like being kissed goodnight as a child, loved, and understood, by someone dear, wanted and needed, it felt like all the best things in the world. It felt like dying in your sleep, and facing the riches of heaven, in one magnificient soul flight. He didn't say a word, but I took the silent invitation. I knew that I would follow. I would follow him wherever he would ask me to.  
  
It rained. Suddenly , since nothing ever pointed on any signs of forthcoming rain.  
  
I stood and felt the raindrops fall over my body, I was soaking wet, and so was he. And I was happy. I knew that there were questions…millions questions to pose…and theremore, I was sure, he could answer.  
  
I laughed, like a madman. Catching the drops of blessed liquid with my lips…and with each drop, I knew I'd never have enough…  
  
I look at him smiling, willing to get to know this new friend of mine, as I observe his calm and smiling face…his eyes, reaching into the very depths of my soul…as if calling for me…but suddenly he starts to dissappear, to evaporate like a mirage, that haunts an unfortunate traveller in the middle of the desert. The rain is no more..and the ground is dry…I scream…the sun hurts my eyes..I close them…and when I open them, I am back….back…painfully, to my prison, to the cell where my restless soul dwells. Just another trick, another trap for me…..that's how we've met. Jesus and I. That's how it all started. 


	3. Memory 2

Memory 2.  
  
Sometimes It feels like time has stopped, and only I keep moving through it's solid stillness. It doesn't frighten me enymore. It only makes me wonder, how can it be possible. Sometimes I also wonder, why am I here, if I only did what He and his Father wanted me to? From the very beginning, he pointed out the aim, he was going to reach. He said, that he was going to die , he even announced the time and the place. As well, as he forsaw that he was going to be betrayed…he Gave me a strange look, back then, this I remember clearly.  
  
It was few months after I joined Jesus and his people. It was very spontanous. I simply went with him that first day, without even going home to prevent my family. I didn't want to, because I knew that my will to leave was not yet strong enough, and they could have stopped me. I simply didn't give them a slightest chance.They must have thought that I died, or something…I just went after Him…at first we didn't talk, but then I gathered back my courage and self-confidence and asked him for his name.  
  
Jesus, - he said with a smile. – My name is Jesus… - He didn't behave anything like the priests or prophets that I saw before, or heard of. He was very friendly and simple, open-hearted and gentle. Not snobbish, or aloof, or carrying the look of his own importance. He was just a man,almost like anybody else…almost, but not quite.  
  
I was wondering, why did he follow me that day. Why did he choose me, among all others? When I met his friends, or followers,( I didn't know how to call them best) I was quite sad to see , they were all plain people, peasants or fishermen, who were mostly illiterate. I felt that I was absolutely unfitting with them, but yet, I couldn't resist the urge to go with them. I sensed a kind of tension, and uneasy looks that pierced me, but each time I saw Jesus look upon me, I felt more than sure about my decision. I had to change my life…and that was the chance. I wasn't sure if that was merely a whim, an outburst, a spontaneus act of a person who's tired of living a life that proved he's just one among the mediocrity? When I studied their faces, I asked myself, how did they come to be with him? Was it just the same…why did we all, actually leave everything behind, only to go after this strange, childlike man, with an otherwordly look? When I tried to regain my materialistic sight, I saw that he was a fragile soul, a man who at times lacked self-confidence, gentle and kind, even though very strange, and even unsetting at times…cheerful and soft one moment, then silent and filled with melancholy, or even angry, to the point of desperation, being on the verge of tears…It was strange, but I felt that he was somehow seeking for support and even protection. Not openly, but inwardly, calling out for a friend, who would give him a firm shoulder to lean , should he ever need it. For everyone else, he was a teacher, a leader, a guide…but he longed for someone, who would probably just comfort him. And I could clearly see it. It was so strange for me thta no one else ever seemed to notice.  
  
Everything was combined in him: weakness and strength, sorrow and joy, determination and doubt, and that was probably something that fascinated us.  
  
I didn't know who Jesus was, on that time, but my heart knew, He was going to bring some changes into my fate, some really serious changes…For me, he was my personal messiah, and I didn't even try to explain to myself the motives of my weird behaviour, which actually terryfied and and amazed my own self.  
  
After I met everybody, I came to a conclusion that I would never fit in this group. There was a man among them, who's job before joining Jesus was, as I found out, gathering taxes…and he, somehow managed to tell others, that the ones like me, and my father , were thiefs, who stole from poor people, who kept their gold within huge vaults, and who's greed was stronger then any other feeling in their brest. Well, probably it was close to truth, but not with me. I didn't argue, I knew it would be worthless, but I remembered…and what's worse…they remembered.  
  
It really amazed me that he didn't even ask me , why I went with him, who am I, what i did for life…it seeme like he knew, or more likely, didn't find that important. I think I understood what he meant, since I felt that I am being reborn, and everything I was before I met him didn't make much sense.  
  
It took me some time to get used to the unspoken conditions of the group, to know the people, to understand what was going on within that small society…it took me even more time, to learn to understand HIM. Or, better said…to accept him.  
  
I was really rather preocupied, about this messiah talk….and I honestly thought that he was a prophet, but not what his followers said he ought to be…a Son of God! It sounded absurd to me…absolutely absurd!  
  
My lack of faith, and a habit to think logically, and even voice my opinion didn't help me much to gain respect and love among others. Simon or Matheus, despised me quite openly, while young John, who was quiet and very much into himself, simply didn't notice me… I wasn't one of them, and mostly everyone behaved as if I simply didn't exist at all. It felt a bit lonly…it would have, if not for him. We've used to talk a lot, Jesus and I…He spoke to others as well, teaching them, speaking of life, and faith, and sharing his wisdom with the ones who simply couldn't appreciate But our conversations were different..much more different. Our talking was more in a form of a dialogue, not just a speech of his..we would discuss things, sometimes he asked me for advices, sometimes we argued, sometimes we just laughed…And I found out that I was growing to feel strangely protective of him. The more I got to know him, the more I saw how vulnerable and fragile he was, so easy to hurt…And slowly, I took my place at his side, as his confident, and his advisor, but mostly his protector. He was the emotional and spiritual leader, but who needed to be guided himself. I gave him a shoulder, and to my surprise, he willingly leaned on it, trusting me to be his right-hand man, which caused a wave of miscontent among the apostles.  
  
One evening, on our way to Galilie, Jesus's homeland, which he wanted to visit, we had a very strange talk….  
  
  
  
In my despair, I recall it often. And now, as I walk through time which has stopped, feeling like I'm traooed in a solid piece of ice, I still recall his eyes, which reflected a whole million of stars that shone in the skies that night…Oh, Jesus, why me? 


End file.
